


in the woods somewhere

by starportals



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Supernatural Elements, in-story local mythology that is totally made up, me taking incredible creative license
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starportals/pseuds/starportals
Summary: Robert Townsend might be in the midst of an existential crisis, but a strange letter from a distant relative gives him an opportunity his father assures him is what he needs.How a backwater village skirting the edge of a forest is supposed to help him, he isn't sure. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And there's something decidedly strange about Setauket.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i've taken creative license to better line up the aesthetic within the story so i've moved setauket to new hampshire and made up a local landscape.  
> i'm not yet sure as to how many chapters this is gonna end up being and updates will be whenever i finish writing chapters so u might have to bear with me sometimes.  
> anyway this is just a short prologue to establish the start of the story and the next update will be a lot longer!! i hope u enjoy :^)

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep.” 

—Robert Frost, ‘Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening’

{+}

The letter arrives on a Thursday, the day after Robert is laid off from his third job in a row. It’s nothing, he tells himself, just a blip. If only.  
He knows the letter is something special by the envelope it's encased in; heavy, expensive, his name and address written in beautiful cursive.

He opens it with the utmost care; it's silly, but to tear the paper would almost be a crime. The contents of the letter itself only serve to confuse him more and he resolves to ring his father. 

It only takes a few rings for Samuel Townsend to pick up, “Robert! Well, this is a surprise. How have you been?”

Robert doesn't tell him about being fired. “I'm fine, dad. I got an odd letter, though.”

“Oh?”

“Dad, who's Barnabas? He writes about an inn he owns up in New Hampshire; he wants to keep it in the family name and was hoping I could take it.” Robert scans through the letter again, eyes catching on the strange and eccentric words this Barnabas character elects to write. 

His father hums quietly, “You know Barnabas. We used to stay with him in the summer when you were a child. He's a distant cousin, I think. Nice, though. Must be getting on a bit now.” Robert waits, glances out of the window onto the street below where traffic is already piling up. New York never changes. “He wants you to take the inn?”

“Yes. He doesn't want anything for it, just wants to keep it under the Townsend name.”

Robert can hear his father smiling, “You should take it. Where in New Hampshire?”

“Uh,” he scans the letter for what feels like the hundredth time. “Some place called Setauket. Country town, by the sounds of it. He writes that there's a lake nearby.”

It does sound nice, Robert has to admit. He adores the city, he really does, it's just that the city seems to have a problem with him. He can't figure out why, but New York is waiting to knock him down after every success. It's beginning to get exhausting. 

“The country air would be good for you. Perhaps you could even settle there.” _Maybe you're right._

“The bar fired me yesterday.” Robert gets the words out in one quick breath, lets them hang in the air. It hits him, then, how tired of it all he is. He’s fine, though. He is.

“Oh, Robert.” His father doesn't sound disappointed, and for just a second Robert has to wonder if it's because he expected this to happen. “Take this. If it works out, I could join you in a few months. We could run it together.” 

“I'd like that.” Robert says honestly. It's been too long since the two of them had been together properly, with himself jumping jobs and his father moving into a care home when the family home became too much after he broke his hip. It occurs to Robert he should have been more present during that ordeal, should have helped his father more with the house. Sally told him so, one night when it was raining heavily and his tiny apartment threatened to swallow them both in darkness. He'd been selfish. “I'm sorry.” 

His father scoffs a laugh, “Come now, Robert. You're alive, aren't you? You have an opportunity to start again, in another place where nobody knows your name. Most people would kill for that chance, and it's being handed to you freely.” 

“Will the home let you leave? If you do come and stay up there with me, that is. Won't they want to send someone with you?” 

“Don't you worry about me; I’ll sort it out. You get on up there and see that inn. Take heart, my boy, if this is rock bottom then the only way to go is up.” 

Robert smiles at that, hopes that it's the case. He and his father say their goodbyes, and then Robert is packing anything that will fit into the small suitcase under his bed. It's an impulsive move, and he's rarely succumbed to such a thing. Perhaps that's how he ended up 26 and alone, a college education beneath his belt and never having the chance to put it to use. Still, a change of scenery would do him the world of good. That's what all the healthy life magazines say; move around, have new experiences. 

God, he's starting to sound like Sally. She would be proud. He'd have to call her from...what was it? Setauket. The shock could very well kill her. 

Setauket. New Hampshire. A lake, probably a forest, too. He could almost picture the town in his mind, and then promptly stops picturing it before his expectations grow too large. The phone reception is probably terrible. There won't be a good restaurant around for miles. How big is this town anyway? Big enough for an inn, so it can't be that bad. Great. Expectations successfully evened out. 

It'll be fine.


	2. welcome to setauket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little more establishing in this chapter with the start of the plot at the end.  
> it's quite late rn so excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes; i'll probably end up reviewing it tomorrow to be sure.  
> enjoy!

It's cold. The kind of cold that settles in the bones and becomes a way of life. It's not even winter yet. Robert pulls his coat tighter around himself and slams the car door shut. 

This was a ridiculous idea. He can't believe it took him until he was stood outside the inn before it hit him how ridiculous this actually was. 

Setauket can't even be called a town it's so small. A village seems more apt. The inn is lakeside, sat next to the road that stretches around its shoreline. Other buildings cling to the side of the road, with smaller, thinner roads disappearing behind them to the rest of the town. Beyond that is the woods, and Robert tries not to acknowledge the existence of somewhere so vast and deep, easy to get lost in, easy to hide in. The near silence is unnerving; the lake laps gently at its shore, and the mid autumn breeze rustles the trees into a chorus of whispers. He tries to like it, but there's a man stood down the road who won't stop staring at him and the situation becomes that little bit more strange.

Robert lifts a hand to wave, but the stranger just turns around and walks away, following the wind behind the row of buildings into the town proper. 

The inn seems nice enough, simply titled _Townsend’s_ and Robert can see why Barnabas wanted it to stay under the family name. It was a family business. So why hadn't he heard of it before now? He leaves his belongings in the boot of the car, choosing instead to scout out the inn and track Barnabas down. 

The building is lovely; old, three storeys tall and leaning ever so slightly to the left. It looks as though it has recently undergone renovation, with the brightness of the whitewashed wood and the extravagance of the porch; three steps off the ground and sheltered by the same slate as on the roof. He doesn't think the word posh, but for such a desolate town it would definitely be fitting. 

Inside is homely, cosy and warm with an open fireplace that screams fire hazard more than anything. The mantel is varnished and dark red, a simple but elegant silver clock ticking away and hollowing out the silence. There are tables laid out in perfect rows of three, large enough for four to a table but all sitting empty. To his left, a small staircase twists upstairs to where he assumes the bedrooms are. Immediately before him is a counter stacked with papers and ledgers, a rusty bell perched on its edge and dangerously close to falling. Robert has never seen a place so empty before.

He's used to bustling city coffee shops and never finding a place to sit, fast food restaurants alive with groups of kids getting a cheap lunch and laughing too loudly at jokes he only half understands. He has yet to properly meet a single person, even on a Saturday afternoon he would expect some hint of life. 

“Hello?” Robert ventures, glancing up the stairs, then through a doorway next to the counter that he realises leads to a small kitchen. The clock continues to tick, echoing in the back of his mind. The ashy smell of the fire burns the back of his throat.

Robert rings the bell once, twice, and waits, looking at the picture hung up on the wall behind the counter. A small frame, holding a painting of what he thinks is the lake outside, the furthest shore thick with trees. A shadowed figure stands in the water, legs beneath the waves, nothing more than a shadow. Footsteps creak above him, shifting towards the stairs, he blinks, and the painting is just a lake and a forest with no figure to be seen.

“Ah!” Someone bellows behind him. “I thought I heard someone!” 

Robert turns in surprise, but he's still thinking about the lake. “What's in the lake?”

The man frowns, the hand he had stretched out in greeting falters and Robert catches himself.

“Sorry.” He wrings his hands together nervously. “Uh, sorry. The lake, I mean. Does it have a name?”

“Oh.” The man spares a glance to the painting behind Robert before meeting his eye again. “We just call it the Sound, though it isn't really a sound, just a lake. Not sure where the name came from.” The man smiles, and Robert nods in thanks, still unsure of where the question came from.

“It's nice.” He says, and extends his own hand when his manners finally catch up with him. “I’m Robert, by the way. Robert Townsend. I’m looking for Barnabas.”

At that, the man smiles again, reaching happily for Robert’s hand and shaking firmly. “Excellent! Well, you've found me; I’d be Barnabas. I did wonder if you'd show up, but I had faith in old Sam’s boy.” 

Robert smiles, small but genuine. Barnabas is a bear of a man; tall and bearded, padded out by layers of clothes to battle the cold, wrapped in a dull red winter coat and wooly hat. Robert should takes notes. 

“Well, my father is nothing if not an opportunist. I wouldn't be here were he not so adamant I take you up on the offer.” Barnabas beams at him, and Robert squirms under his gaze. It's too open. Too obviously for Robert and Robert alone. “Where is everyone?”

Barnabas waves a hand. “When the people from last week left I closed off bookings, just in case you turned up, you know. Wanted you to have your own customers. Bookings open again on Monday, or whenever you want to open them. Place is yours now.” He chuckles, pocketing his hands. “It's not always this quiet.”

Robert has a hard time agreeing with that. He notices again the ticking of the clock. “Can I ask, why are you looking to just…give the place away? I mean, you don't even want anything for it.” Robert huffs a laugh, not wanting to ask if there's anything wrong with the place lest he offend Barnabas. 

“Ah, because it's time, I think. I love the place dearly, but all good things must come to an end. It seems I must move on.” A strange expression falls upon Barnabas’ face, and Robert has to wonder if the man is sick and dying. He doesn't ask, and Barnabas doesn’t tell. 

Robert nods once, hoping to convey understanding and not the excruciating confusion and anxiety that bubbles in his chest. “Are you sure you want nothing for it? I'd be happy to...I don't know...take out a loan for it? Just to give you something.”

Barnabas shakes his head. “No! Not at all. It's a good place, and from what Sam tells me you could do with a fresh start. Please, just take it.” He sounds almost desperate, pleading. 

“When did you speak to my father?” 

“Oh, the other day. He called after being on the phone with you. Haven't spoken to the old boy in years, was nice to hear his voice…” Robert ignores the wistful look in Barnabas’ eyes, the look of a dying man remembering. “Anyway, I do hope you'll enjoy it here. The quiet must be nice after living in the city so long.”

Barnabas turns to open the door, and Robert frowns. “Don't I have to sign anything?” 

“God, no. I've done it all myself. Call it the gift of foresight.” He stands out on the porch, hands still in his pockets, and takes in a deep breath of air, looking out across the lake that stretches wide. The afternoon sun breaks through the cloud in pale white light, warming the air for only a second, softening Barnabas’ edges as if the man were fading. Robert would swear he was looking at a ghost. 

“Good luck.” Barnabas’ smile is evident in his tone, and then he's gone, walking down the porch and turning right down the road. 

“Thank you.” Robert follows him out, stands on the edge of the porch, but Barnabas is gone. 

In his place stands the man who had watched Robert earlier, only this time he's stood close enough that Robert can see him better. He's short, bundled in a dark peacoat and scarf, grey beanie pulled over his head. He waves this time, face pulled into something that Robert thinks is a smile. 

“Don't suppose you saw a bearded man go by?” Robert asks, sarcasm bleeding through.

“He's gone.” The stranger confirms Robert’s suspicions, but doesn't elaborate.

“Yeah. Thought as much.” He mutters himself, then to the stranger, “Thanks.” 

Robert sighs and goes to turn back into the inn, contemplating just heading back to New York and continuing his seemingly never-ending search for a decent job. He owns the place now, he could sell up and cash the profit no problem. That feels wrong, though. He can't figure out why it does, but he knows he'd regret the decision. 

“You're Robert, yeah?” Robert turns to find himself face-to-face with the stranger, having to stop himself from letting out a laugh when he has to adjust gaze downward to account for the man’s height. 

“Robert Townsend, yes. And you would be..?”

The stranger smiles, “I’m Abe. Abraham. Woodhull. I run the grocery store a few roads down from you, by the woods.” His words are disjointed, as if he says them without thought or specific presentation. 

“Right. And I’m assuming Barnabas told you about me?” Robert wants that clarified, because a stranger knowing who he is doesn't sit right with him. 

“Oh, yeah, a few times down at the tavern. He was very adamant that you'd be taking over.” Abraham smiles, like he's pleased that the man was right about Robert. 

Robert hates him. Robert will try to hate him.

“Well!” Abraham claps his hands together, “I better get back. The novelty of a new arrival only lasts so long before duty calls. It was nice to meet you, Robert.” He holds out his hand, and Robert has never been one to turn down a handshake.

“Likewise.” He resolutely ignores how warm Abraham’s hand is in his own.

{+}

Robert spends the weekend tidying the place up slightly. It's not that it was messy beforehand, but it wasn't how he would have things arranged. He moves the tables around a bit; distancing them from the fire and placing a few beneath the windows of the room. The clock with its constant and annoying tick-tock has its batteries taken out and is placed at the back of the cupboard under the stairs ,where Robert also finds an array of cleaning items; a vacuum cleaner, a shelf of various polishes and surface cleansers, a wooden broom, and a roll of black bags. That, along with the nicely filled cupboards in the kitchen, means he's well stocked enough to last a few weeks before desperately running low on supplies. He holds out hope that he'll be familiar enough with the village by then to have no trouble running out to the store should an emergency arise.

Robert runs through the books of the place; he wants to see if Barnabas had any deals going with local or nearby companies for vegetable and meat produce, and is pleased when he sees Abraham Woodhull’s name lodged in there under the simple title of Vegetables. What sorts of vegetables Abraham supplied was a mystery as of now, but Robert’s mind was put at ease slightly with their meeting earlier. 

Monday rolls around quickly, and Robert wakes with the sun. It drenches the village in a pale pink light, glistening off of the surface of the lake after the thin layer of morning mist has faded. Robert stands at the window of his room; the attic room, chosen because he likes the feeling of being above everything, like he had been in his apartment. The landscape is different, but the feeling is the same, if not better. The gentleness of the dawn calms something within him, and Robert can't think for the life of him why he would ever turn down such an offer. 

Silence sits like a blanket all throughout the inn, broken only by the creaking of floorboards as Robert makes his way down the stairs to the kitchen where he fixes himself a cup of coffee. There's a door in the kitchen that leads outside; he hadn't noticed it over the weekend, but he notices it now because there's one Abraham Woodhull standing on the other side, smiling through the window. 

Robert sighs, hoping he sounds adequately annoyed as he opens the door because, really, it's not even 7am yet. 

“What do you want?” Robert grunts when Abraham pushes past him and steals the mug from his hands, but smiles in triumph at the face the man makes after a sip.

“Oh, that's disgusting. Try some sugar, might be just what you need.” And just like that Robert’s annoyance is safely back in place once more. Extraordinary, really. He's only met Abraham twice and already he plays havoc with Robert’s thoughts. 

“I'll be sure to consider it. Again, what do you want?” 

Abraham shrugs, smiles again as he slots himself onto the counter next to the sink. “Nothing. Just thought I'd check up on you. Haven't seen you since Saturday and I figured you'd locked yourself up in this place. I have a crate of veggies out front for you; Mondays are delivery days. I did knock on the front door, too, but you didn't answer. Old Barney usually left the back door open for me. No worries, though.” Abraham’s grin is infuriating. 

Robert makes a mental note for Mondays so as not to be caught off guard again. He thinks he might have seen a note about it somewhere when he was rifling through the papers for the inn, but he couldn't be sure.

“Can I have my coffee back?” Robert leaves out saying please; it would appear they've already gone past the manners between new acquaintances. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. Gross anyway.” That weirdly smug smile seems to be perpetually painted onto Abraham’s face, and Robert wants to be annoyed. He really does. But it's early enough that he's still shaking off the remnants of sleep, and his head is full of fog. Horrible, rose-tinted fog not unlike the morning mist over the lake, and he's almost glad for Abraham’s company. It helps ease the silence.

“Are you always up this early?” Robert asks, because he finds that he's genuinely curious. “Or is it a Monday only occurrence?” 

He delights in the fact that Abraham looks taken aback for only a beat before his smile slips back into place, “I’m always up early. But, yeah, I guess it's earlier on a Monday. Guess that makes you special.”

Robert rolls his eyes, “I’m flattered.”

“You should be.” Abraham smirks. “You mind if I call you Rob?” 

“I prefer Robert.”

“Excellent.” Abraham jumps down from the counter and saunters to the door. “I’ll see you around, Rob. Don’t forget the veggies out the front. They’re on the porch in a crate.” And then he's gone, and Robert refuses to think about how oppressive the resulting silence is. 

He pours the rest of his coffee down the sink, freezing when he hears the floorboards above him creak. It's the house settling. That's what his mother told him when he was a child, and the creaking of the house meant there were monsters in the shadows. That's what he chooses to believe now, and lets the house settle itself. 

He lets his mind wander; there's a good half hour before the inn opens at 7am, and while he's not expecting an overflowing amount of guests he still figures there must be a fair few that pass through the village, even if they're only here for one night. 

He hates that his thoughts fall on Abraham Woodhull. It's his eyes, Robert decides, that make the man such a mystery. His smile is endearing but, oh, those eyes. Deep and green and lit up from within. Window to the soul, Robert thinks, and wonders absently what Abraham saw when he looked at Robert himself. Not a lot, he imagines. For some reason, that isn't a nice thought.

“And that's enough of that.” Robert mumbles to himself, and decides to flip the sign on the door to open a little earlier than it should be. 

As promised, there is a crate of vegetables waiting for him on the porch. He brings it into the kitchen and has a quick rifle through it. A few cabbages, a nice selection of carrots, with some beetroot hidden at the bottom. It's not a lot, but it's a choice collection.

The day drags after that, passes by achingly slowly with only two arrivals. The first is an older man, hair greying at the temples, who books in for the one night only. The second is a couple saying they're doing a road trip as part of their honeymoon, starting east and heading west, and they're so in love it hurts. They book for two nights, and Robert shows them to the larger bedroom on the second floor with a lovely view of the lake. It is the perfect place for romance, and Robert can't help but be happy for them as he watches them laugh together. If his chest aches with want, well, that's for him and him alone. 

When evening finally rolls around, Robert is so bored he's started a round of CandyCrush. It's terrible, just as he knew it would be. All of the new guests are in their respective rooms, and closing time is in five minutes, so he supposes a quick walk around town wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. 

There's a chill in the air not unusual for this time of year, but it bites at him more than he's used to. Robert blames the lake. It looks deeper in the dimming daylight, its surface blurred from the wind. The sky above is dark enough that the first few, bright stars are making themselves known. Robert hadn't thought of that; there's less light pollution here than back in the city, and the night looks to be as cloudless as the day had been. He has always loved the stars. 

“Wait until the sun sets properly.” Robert jumps at the intrusion, and panics for a split second before he lowers his eyes to see Abraham stood near him. “A night like this? There'll be thousands. Millions.” 

Robert finds himself returning that endearing smile of Abraham’s, and thinks about the book his mother had that was full of constellations and photos of planets. He still has it, somewhere, probably sitting at the bottom of one of his bags. 

“Are you the only person who lives here? Or is everyone else wary of the new guy on the block?” 

Abraham shrugs, “Oh, they're wary. They'll come around, though.” Robert nods. It's understandable since the town is so small, but strange nonetheless. “There's a clearing in the woods. A ten minute walk from here.”

“A clearing?” 

“Yeah.” Abraham points up at the sky. “You want to see the stars, right?” 

Robert looks skyward. It's grown darker in the last few minutes, more stars visible than there were before. 

He follows Abraham down the road, to where a muddied path trails off into the darkness of the trees, and he feels like a teenager again, out after curfew because his friend had something cool to show him. It's ridiculous. It's exhilarating. Setauket is a town for impulse to win out.

“Watch out for the roots. They like to trip people up.” Robert would laugh, but Abraham looks deadly serious, so instead he keeps an eye on the forest floor to step over the roots that breach through the soil.

Back up by the inn, Robert could hear the last of the birdsong, high and happy before the birds went down for the night. Here, beneath the dark canopy, there's no song at all. Just the whispering rush of the leaves above him, and the sound of his pulse echoing in his ears. 

“We shouldn't be here.” Abraham calls over his shoulder, but he doesn't sound too worried about it. He sounds almost proud. 

“Why?” Robert reaches out when he stumbles over a root he didn't see, grasping at Abraham’s coat before he steadies himself.

“Dangerous. Mary says it's not our realm. Well, my realm. Whatever that means.” 

Robert doesn't reply, doesn't really understand what he's being told because he's trying to figure out if he can actually hear a flute playing in the distance or if his mind is playing tricks on him. It doesn't matter. He's drunk on the atmosphere of the place. On Abraham’s enthusiasm. 

They reach the clearing. There are small, yellow-green lights circling the open space, hovering as a border before the trees. Robert didn’t think fireflies were native in this part of America. Abraham catches him looking and laughs.

“Ignore them, the bastards. They'll be gone in a bit.” 

“No, they're…” Robert twists around to see them all. “They're beautiful.” 

“You say that now.” Abraham says, and Robert turns to look at him. 

He looks different in the dark, illuminated only by the fireflies and the last light of the day. There's a confidence about him that during the day is replaced by an easy arrogance. His head feels heavy.

“Look, see? I told you so.” Abraham looks up, and Robert does the same.

It is incredible. The stars are countless, infinite. Divine. He thinks of his mother again, and that's been happening a lot lately, hasn't it? Old memories brought to the surface and where once they left him hollow and wretched, they now fill him with the love he knows his mother had for him, the love he has for her. It's nice to know that death can't take that. 

He tears his gaze away to look at Abraham, and Robert thinks the man might have seen this very sight time and time again but he has an expression of such awe etched across his face that he could be seeing the stars for the first time in his life. How is that possible? To never tire of the same sky, like Robert had grown tired of New York. 

“Something, right?” Abraham meets his eye.

A lump forms in Robert’s throat and all he can do is nod in response. God, does his head hurt. It's like a migraine but the pain isn't sharp enough, more of a dull throb that threatens to blind him. The fireflies have gone, just as Abraham said they would. Shadows pulsate and shift at the edges of his vision, and there's a metallic taste in his mouth.

“What…” He reaches out blindly, feeling Abraham’s hands grab at his arm and shoulder.

“You're okay. This happens. She wanted to meet you, I couldn't say no.” 

Robert’s mind is buzzing with questions, but the world goes black before any of them can be asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah! first proper chapter!  
> updates will be as quickly as i can whack em out but i'll try to keep them a week apart maximum.  
> feedback appreciated lads


	3. the fireflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm trying to get across the weirdness of the situation and the town itself, so i'm sorry if it doesn't translate well into the story and feels slow. let me know if that's the case and i'll try and fix it!!  
> apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes.

Robert wakes with his alarm at 6am, his eyes fogged over with sleep, his head full of stars. The room smells of wet concrete after a shower of rain. There's a pounding in his head that worsens when he sits up. It feels like a hangover, but he hasn't so much as touched alcohol since his college days, and that was very much a mistake. 

The memory of last night sits heavy in his mind, and he chastises himself for being so reckless. Running through strange woods with a strange person, what was he thinking? It could have been a dream, he supposes, but the throbbing in his head tells him otherwise. He'll need to be more cautious.

His room is dark; the sun has risen outside, but the clouds must have come over during the night. Everything is bleak, desaturated and miserable. He throws on the first pair of jeans he finds, searches high and low for his favourite sweater; the knitted one that's thick and soft and the colour of moss. In the kitchen, he downs a couple of paracetamol and hopes for the best.

The chill of the night sits in the bones of the inn, and Robert spends at least half an hour trying to get the fire going in the main room, crouched over the fireplace. There's a thermostat for the heating on the first floor corridor, but with so little guests he sees it as a waste of money. There's space heaters in each room, he's sure they'll make do. 

Outside, there’s the telltale patter of rain, and Robert’s will to get a fire going abandons him completely. His headache has eased only slightly, but now there's a heavy feeling deep in his chest that leaves him hollow. 

The inn is empty, even with the guests upstairs. Robert rubs at his eyes and wonders if perhaps the paracetamol had expired. It must have. He rubs at his eyes again, closes them, and breathes deeply. So much for the fresh country air. So much for the endless possibilities and the new start. 

He wants to go back to bed.

It's only then that he realises the room isn't as silent as it should be. There's a monotone echo bouncing off the walls, and Robert looks above him to the mantel. That damn clock is back on show. Odd, he's sure he put it away. Took the batteries out and all. Yet there it is, ticking away into the hush of the morning. Robert stands and watches as the second hand does its round of the clock face with the feeling of eyes boring into the back of his head. He turns, and is faced only with the still of the room. 

He really, really wants to go back to bed. 

“Utterly ridiculous.” He mumbles to himself, and ignores when the tapping of the rain sounds like someone agreeing with him.

He leaves the clock where it is. It clearly prefers being on show, and who is he to argue with apparently stubborn inanimate objects? Again, ridiculous. 

Tuesday, somehow, manages to be less eventful than the previous day. Nobody arrives. Nobody calls about a booking. In fact, nobody calls about anything. Robert passes the day in an exhausted daze, topping up on paracetamol every few hours when his headache shows no sign of abating, switching between pointlessly cleaning the kitchen and main room to doodling pointless patterns on spare sheets of paper. He wishes Barnabas would have told him how dead this town actually was. 

The older man who'd signed in yesterday leaves around midday, and the couple never so much as leave their room. He thinks about going up to ask them if they'll be wanting a meal, then promptly remembers they're on their honeymoon. Better left alone, then. 

The rain doesn't let up. He can't stop thinking about his bed.

It's early evening, or maybe late, he can't tell anymore, but Robert has been staring out of the window in the front door for what feels like hours now. He watches the lake grow darker with the setting sun, frowns when he thinks he spots someone wading out into the water. Whatever it is, it's gone in the blink of an eye. He thinks of the painting behind him, but that's all it is when he turns to look. Just a painting. 

He locks up and heads to his room, tiredness winning out and allowing him to fall asleep in the clothes he'd worn all day.

Robert doesn't dream.

{+}

He spends the week feeling as though he's dead on his feet. His headache takes days to completely disappear, and the clouds only seem to thicken as the end of October crawls ever closer. It hasn't stopped raining.

It's all a bit of a drag. He's never missed his father so much in his entire life. Sometimes he thinks about calling, but what would he say? Nothing remarkable has happened, the night in the woods notwithstanding, and he's definitely not mentioning that ever. To anyone.  
Setauket is driving him mad. 

Robert manages to get in a few walks of the town, weather be damned. He finds Abraham’s grocery store but never stops in to say hi. There's a tavern just on the edge of the town, nestled in a row of buildings that border the woods. The sign just says STRONG in block capitals, and business is apparently always booming.

The locals seem nice enough. Some nod in greeting when they pass him on the street, others stop to have a full conversation if the shower of rain has lightened enough for it. 

It still feels uneasy, though. Robert can't put a name to it, but he feels as though he's part of a set for a horror flick. There's nothing scary about Setauket, not explicitly, but the atmosphere of the place puts him on edge if he thinks about it for too long. 

He keeps thinking there's someone in the lake. Keeps seeing the same silhouette wading waist deep into the gentle waves. It almost eases his nerves when it happens; something constant and reliable.

{+}

It's the day before Halloween. No one seems to be prepared to celebrate the occasion, however. No one has even mentioned it.

Robert had met Anna and Mary the other day, when the pair of them trailed reluctantly behind Abraham on his routine visit to the inn. Robert isn't sure when it became routine, but he can't remember a time it wasn't. The last month has flown by, uneventful and blurred together. 

Sleep, when he's able to grab it, never shakes the tiredness that's made a home beneath his skin, but he's grown accustomed to it. The same way he's grown accustomed to Abraham waltzing into the inn late into the evening, always wearing that God awful peacoat and the same broad smile. The familiarity is nice, but the unease is always there.

“You should try one of Mary’s concoctions, see if it helps.” Abraham tells him now, from where he's sprawled himself in one of the chairs in the main room.

Robert looks up from the bill he's compiling for tomorrow's leaver, “Sorry?” 

“You're having trouble sleeping. She's good with things like that; knocked Anna’s insomnia right out of existence.”

“I'm fine.” Robert never has been good at lying. 

“Whatever you say.” Abraham stands, and Robert watches him out of the corner his eye as he makes his way over to the counter. “Fancy going into the woods tonight?”

Robert raises an eyebrow, “After what happened last time? I'll pass, thank you.” He still hasn't gotten an explanation for that night.

“That was your fault. Anyway, least you're alive.” Abraham says it in passing, pairs it with a shrug, as if being alive is the bare minimum of what Robert should have expected. 

“What's so special about the woods? I prefer the lake.” 

Abraham perks up at that, and Robert suppresses the smile he can feel twitching at his lips. The ticking of the clock swallows the silence. 

“There's nothing special about the woods. Not in particular. Why? Is there something special about the lake?” Abraham leans forward in interest, and Robert mirrors his movement, bill long since forgotten.

“You tell me.” Robert presses, stretching the quiet and never moving his gaze from Abraham’s eyes, hoping the other man will concede. 

“It's a lake. Just like the woods are woods. Nothing special. Stay away from them.”

“The woods?”

“Yes. And the lake. I can go with you, but you shouldn't go on your own.” 

Robert frowns, “Why? What's in the woods, Abraham? What's in the lake?” 

“Nothing. There's nothing. Just don’t go wandering off on your own, is all I’m saying.” If Robert didn't know any better, he'd say that Abraham is scared. He does know better. He still says Abraham is scared. 

It's enough to get Robert to agree. “Okay. No lake, no woods.” He continues writing up the bill.

“We should do something, though. You should come around to my place.”

Robert glances up, “No, thank you.”

Abraham grins, apparently eager. “Why not?”

_Because it's been so long since I’ve called someone a friend._

__

__

_Because I can never decide on whether I want to push you away or pull you close._

__

__

_Because, half of the time, I’m not even sure you're human._

“Because.”

“That's not an answer.”

Robert sighs, “It’s all you're getting.” He makes a quick escape to kitchen, muttering something about making a fresh cup of coffee, and breathes a sigh of relief when Abraham doesn't follow him. 

He hides out in the kitchen long after the kettle has finished boiling, and Abraham must get the hint because Robert hears the front door click open and then shut.

He thinks about the woods, about the fireflies that had bordered the clearing, about the sheer awe in Abraham’s eyes. Robert still isn't convinced it wasn't all a dream. 

He sees a note on the counter when he's gathered himself enough to leave the kitchen. The writing is rough and scratchy, and so obviously Abraham. It's an address, and Robert tucks it away in the diary for another time. They're friends. He can't stand the thought of ruining that. 

He does manage to sleep. And for the first time in a few weeks, he even dreams. There's a monochrome landscape full of shifting shadows and small, star-like lights. He thinks he hears a voice, whispering from the darkness. Water swallows his legs from the knee down, cold and sharp, and then he's falling. Down, so far down. Something calls his name.

{+}

Halloween comes and goes without celebration.

“November 5th is the important day.” Anna tells him on the 3rd, when the inn is closed to new bookings for the day and his guests are all out. 

The tavern is quiet this time of the morning, not yet 11am. But the fire is warm and the dark wood of the interior cosy. 

“Why?” He asks, sipping at a glass of water. 

Anna smiles. “Tradition. There's a big feast here at the tavern, and a procession into the woods.” She sounds fond, and Robert supposes she would be.

“The woods?” Honestly, Robert is starting to get a bit annoyed at the woods. People are allowed in, people aren't allowed in. What could possibly be so damn special about the woods to warrant such odd behaviour from an entire town? 

“Of course.” Anna replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Robert knows when he's beat.

Anna wipes down the surface of the bar, swatting at his arms gently until he lifts them up. He thinks about the lake. He thinks about what he's going to have for supper later on. He thinks about Abraham Woodhull.

“Where does Mary live?” He asks absently.

“She's not around today. I'll tell her you asked after her when she's back.” It's a tone of finality.

“Okay. Thank you.” Robert has grown used to not questioning otherwise odd things. He's pretty sure an alien invasion would be a normal Friday evening for Setauket. He's still not sure if people are being genuinely friendly or just simply tolerating him. He prefers to think it's the former, but he has a horrible feeling it's the latter.

Anna appears to take pity on him. “You should come to the feast. It's always a good time, and I know Abe would like for you to be there. Any time after sunset is fine.” 

Robert spends the entire following day thinking about that feast. He decides not to go, and wakes up on the 5th with the opposing intention. 

He waits by the lake for the sun to set, not too close; Abraham’s warnings have somehow buried themselves in his mind, and he stays at a safe distance. There's a bench by the side of the road, facing out over the body of water and he sits there for what feels like days, shivering beneath his jacket and willing the sun to sink below the horizon faster. 

The trees whisper in the wind, talking amongst each other, and Robert isn't sure when he started to think of them as something with conscious thought. He looks away from the lake for only a second, but when he looks back there's the figure stood in the water. 

Robert can't see it much clearer than he usually does, despite being closer; it's just a dark mass that seems vaguely human. 

“Evening.” He ventures, and is unsurprised when the thing doesn't answer. 

It does move, though, in the same way a person would when only half turning their body. Were it an actual human, Robert would say it had turned to look at him. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen to him in this town. 

He gets the distinct feeling that it's annoyed, and he sighs. “Well, don't look at me. I'm not the one paddling in the dark.” Again, not the weirdest thing to happen. 

Rationality says he overtired, or it's the dark playing tricks with his eyes. A month isn't too long, but it's enough time to convince Robert that anything that happens in Setauket is more than likely a real occurrence. He watches as the figure twists itself to look forward again. It dawns on Robert that he's intruding on what is perhaps a private moment for the creature. It explains the annoyance. 

“I'm sorry.” He tells the thing, and he means it.

“Sorry for what?” Abraham calls from behind him, successfully startling the creature enough for it to disappear. 

Robert turns his head. “Nothing. Shouldn't you be at the tavern?” 

“Yeah. Anna said you hadn't shown up yet so I thought I'd come and get you. You are coming, right?” 

Robert nods and stands to follow Abraham into the town, sparing a glance behind him in case the creature came back. The lake is just a lake. 

The tavern is busier than he's ever seen it; people crowd outside, huddling close to the walls and the hum of conversation warms the bitter autumn air. He notices there's no electricity. The lights have been replaced by candles and open cauldrons of fire, people holding their hands above the flames to warm their flesh. 

He sees Mary first, after Abraham disappears into the crowd to find Anna at the bar.

Robert smiles warmly when she pulls him into a hug, “We thought you weren't coming.” 

“I wasn't going to.” He admits, and Mary offers him a small vial of dark liquid. “What's this?”

“Anna said you were asking after me, and I figured it was about your sleeping troubles. Put a drop of this in a warm drink before bed and it should sort you right out.”

“And if it doesn't?”

“It will.” 

Her confidence is firm and unshakeable. Robert has an easy time believing the remedy will help, and he pockets the vial.

“He was by the lake, not in the lake. It's different.” Abraham’s voice grows louder as he approaches, Anna following behind him with her brows knitted together in concern.

“It's the same!” She all but squeals at Abraham, and then turns to Robert, smacking his chest for emphasis. “And you! Stay away from the lake.”

He thinks of the shadowed figure. “Why? It's just a lake.” They all know he's playing dumb.

“Don't be naïve, Robert. It doesn't suit you.” Anna deadpans, and hits Abraham’s arm when he huffs a laugh. She turns to leave them, muttering something to Abraham as she goes.

“He's not a child!” He calls after her, and catches Robert’s eye. “I'm sure he can look after himself.” 

Robert is missing something, he knows he is, but he can't figure out what. Mary chases after Anna, apologising to Robert and offering Abraham a look of sympathy. 

“Anna doesn't like the lake.” Abraham sighs, fiddling with the sleeve of that damn peacoat. “She lost someone, a few years back. It's fine, but she just… Look, just please stay away from the lake, I guess. Okay?” 

“Even if you're with me?” Robert asks, and Abraham gives him a nervous look. “They don't know about the woods, back when I first moved here, do they?” Abraham looks away. “Do they?” 

“You can't say anything; Mary would kill me if she found out. Anyway, you're perfectly fine! It would be different if something had happened, but it didn't.”

Robert is astounded. “I passed out, Abraham! I haven't had a decent night’s sleep in weeks!”

“Yeah, and now you'll be fine with Mary’s help! She doesn't have to know why you can't sleep.”

“You're unbelievable.” Robert's angry all of a sudden; he was sure the girls knew about the woods. He was sure Abraham had blabbed about it endlessly. He isn't sure whether to keep being angry or switch it out for being impressed. “If something bad happens, we tell them. I don't care if it happens ten years from now; if I think it's because of that night, I'm telling them.” 

“Fine. Whatever.” Abraham accedes, and they both drop the subject. “Do you want to get some food?” 

The feast is an elaborate ordeal; all the of the tables in the tavern are pushed together to create one mismatched larger table. Plates of meat and vegetables are balanced precariously on the surface, and in the center is a hog roast. The whole thing is a bit medieval, in Robert’s opinion, but one can't argue with good food. And, oh, is the food good. Abraham sits next to him, and Robert pretends not to notice when the man leans over to steal something from his plate. 

Nobody touches the hog roast. 

It must be nearing midnight before everything is eaten. Clearing the table is a group effort, and Robert watches as two men move to lift the hog roast and take it outside.

“Come on, we'll miss the best part.” Abraham tugs at Robert’s sleeve and pulls him out into the night, where the crowd has lifted the hog onto some kind of palanquin, hoisted onto the shoulders of the tallest people. It's bizarre. 

“Here, honey, hold this. Follow the procession, just behind us. Don't lose formation.” A short woman with a head of dark curls hands Robert a fire lit torch and pushes him into the crowd, Anna in front of him and Abraham behind. The hog on its palanquin stands a few people down from him, and then the procession begins moving. 

Others in the procession are holding their own torches, some holding nothing at all. A high, metallic hum fills the air, and Robert thinks he can hear wind chimes. The procession moves to enter the woods, and Robert freezes.

“It's okay. Just be vigilant.” Abraham whispers behind him. “Tonight, it's allowed.” 

Beneath the trees, the soil is soft and damp, and the light of the torches cast odd shadows all around their gathering. His head is full of whispers. 

The procession approaches a clearing. It's larger than the one Abraham had brought him to, and in the center stands a stone table that the palanquin with the hog is placed upon. Robert follows the crowd to stand on the edge of the clearing, trying his best to look straight ahead rather than into the darkness behind him. A haze falls over the clearing, and fireflies fill the air, bright and twinkling. There's a small group of children jogging to catch the fireflies, laughing when the bugs flit away from their grasping hands. People move from the edges, some already choosing to walk back to the town, others staying to talk with each other as more fireflies appear. The torches are placed at the foot of the stone table, forming a small ring of fire. 

Robert doesn't understand. It's a very pagan affair.

“What's it for?” He watches as one of the smaller children manages to catch a firefly, only to open her hand and have nothing in her palm. 

“It honours the dead. It shows them we haven't forgotten them.” Anna links her arm with Robert’s, Abraham standing on his other side, leaning in close. 

Robert catches sight of Mary from across the clearing, face content as the fireflies dance through the night.

Only later does it occur to him that they weren't fireflies.

{+}

Benjamin Tallmadge books into the inn a week later, and Robert can feel a storm brewing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM let the major plot begin lads  
> for those interested or curious; november 5th in england is guy fawkes/bonfire night.


End file.
